No words

When Possum died, one of my colleagues confessed that it affected her profoundly. They were not particularly good friends, but she admired a lot about his attitude and spirit.

--- I don't have words for this. I've written a dozen lines and deleted them all and written a dozen more and soon the backspace key will fade. ---

When I came home tonight, and read that Dkw's website was ceasing, that today I emailed my manager in Japan to explain in hundreds of paragraphs why I could not suggest a replacement for him, all I could do was cry on my computer.

I had been out all day and all the emails popping into my inbox blurred with tears and lack of meaning. What does any of this matter? What do invites and movies and lunch and hotels matter? Who are the names on these emails? Who are the distant people in London answering me?

I can't find words for any of this, so I will just cry it out some more. As I wrote to his mother, "Ironic that words - the substance of David’s life – are what we struggle to hang on to in the void that he leaves behind."